


Living La Vida Car Wars

by Christopher J Burke (Cjburke)



Category: Cars Wars (Steve Jackson Games Video Game)
Genre: Autoduel, Car Wars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-23
Updated: 2018-01-23
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:53:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28053474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cjburke/pseuds/Christopher%20J%20Burke
Summary: The author is sucked into a story he created, appearing as his own character. In this case, the story is part of the Steve Jackson Games Car Wars universe.





	Living La Vida Car Wars

The right of way goes to the biggest guns, even if the use of vehicular weapons is severely restricted within city limits and outright prohibited in certain districts, unless properly licensed. But who’s going to enforce the rules? And who will look the other way. Blood in the streets runs red, but cash in hand runs green. Besides who needs a pair of .50 Caliber Machine Gun when you’re barreling down Ocean Parkway with nearly three tons on metal and ablative plastic armor around you? Hang a ramplate on the front bumper for extra laughs and stain the hood with jaywalkers and law-abiding pedestrians alike. 

How I got here, I no longer remember. I’d been jogging down the bike path alongside the road when I sat down on a bench by a tree for a breather. Took a swig from my water bottle and closed my eyes for a second. 

Next thing I hear is a car spinning donuts and revving its engines. I opened my eyes in time to see a filthy, dark brown sedan, blades sticking out of the hubcaps, tail spikes protruding from the back of the chassis and a jerry-built rocket platform mounted overhead, speeding back toward a lone figure on the road. The walker pulled a pistol in a meaningless gesture a split-second before he was launched up into the air, over the car. 

His jacket snagged a rocket on the hood and he rode with the sedan about thirty feet before the ordnance broke free and the two of them fell to the asphalt, tumbling away from the vehicle. The driver sped to the intersection, and with a screech of smoking tires, took a hard left onto Kings Highway. The neighborhood had changed in what I surmised was the past 50 years, but it was still recognizable. What makes me say 50 years? 

Because this setting was 50 years in the future when I created it. It wasn’t my future: it’s a shared world. But this is a part that I had created. And now I was in it. But I wouldn’t be here for long in just my sweats with a half-empty water bottle, keys to a door that probably no longer exists and a phone that shouldn’t get any service. (Battery at 60%, no bars.) I ran toward the body in the road, stopped short with I remembered the missile, and then decided it would’ve gone off already. No idea where he was heading or why he was out and about, but he was as prepared as any other walker would be. He had a vest with three grenades and an extra clip for the pistol that had skittered down the road. I retrieved that after relieving him of the vest. The helmet he wore had cracked on impact, and I didn’t really want to pull that off anyway. 

So there I stood in the middle of an empty road which ought to be filled with slow-moving traffic this time of day. How long could I last? I might survive against a random mugger, but I wasn’t prepared for anything serious. What did I need? How could I get it? Think. 

Currency. 

I checked his pockets and found some cash and a blank plastic card, which would likely be electronic credits. The story was never too specific about how those worked, so I couldn’t be sure how to figure out what the balance was. But as my story was just beginning, I had to hope it would have as much as I needed. I took a couple steps away before I looked back at the pile of death so commonplace to this world. I stopped to say a prayer. I didn’t know if they still did that here, but I did that where I came from. 

I got the feeling I’d be doing a lot more of that in short order. 

Then I took another look at the rocket on the blacktop. Barter? I hefted it up on my shoulder with care, probably setting my physical therapy back six months. Must’ve weighed 25 pounds, at least – so much for “light” rocket. Maybe I could swing it at a mugger. Or drop it on his foot. 

This neighborhood was mostly residential, but there would be businesses on Kings Highway up on the right, which, thankfully, was the opposite direction from where the death machine had gone. As expected, many of the remaining buildings were just boarded-up husks and burnt-out shells, but a few had survived and even thrived by adapting to the new societal norms. 

I once joked about “Joe’s World of Ammo” even though I never wrote about it specifically by that name. But there it was (at least it’s equivalent) on a triangular plot of land between Coney Island Ave and the old el. If nothing else, I could get equipped to survive my stay here, though I doubted I’d enjoy it. 

Joe (not his real name, but that’s what I’ll call him) took a look at me entering his eyes opened wide. He threw his arms up in a gesture of surrender, yelling “Are you crazy, Sean? Get out of here with that! Take it around back before it detonates in my shop!” 

Sean? Had I “Mary-Sued” myself into my story? I didn’t think I had. 

Either way, I backed out the door and made my way down the alley into the courtyard. I was deciding the best way to “drop” it to the concrete, when I heard a loud racket out front. Gunfire. A battle had started. Dropping the rocket into a patch of dirt, hoping I didn’t kill next month’s vegetables, I ran for the back door and into the store. Why the hell was I running toward the danger? Hadn’t a clue – it was just instinct. The brown sedan had returned. Its ramplate had wrecked the reinforced storefront, and its front end was resting on a pile of debris and rubble, wheels still spinning. As a result, its forward machineguns were titled upward, so I dropped to the floor. I found Joe lying on the floor. He’d been hit in the burst of flying debris. He clutched a rifle in his hands. 

My pistol was useless against an armored vehicle, and regardless of whatever grenade rules were covering this world at the moment via “Word of God”, I would still be in the blast radius. The rifle was the only option, slim as it was. 

I stood and levelled the rifle on the counter, praying, “Please by AV ammo! Please be AV ammo!” I fired and blew a chunk of the front armor. Yes! A second shot, another hit. Then a third. I seemed to be doing more damage than I should’ve, but it’d been a while since I read the rules. But one rule I did remember was that if you’re going to build a ram car, you put most of your armor up front. You would have substantially less on the sides. 

In a brave, daring and utterly stupid move, I crawled along the floor, safe from his weapons, and popped up by the passenger side window. I waved “Hi” as I fired point-blank. As his armor ablated, he shifted into reverse and tried to get off the rubble pile. 

“Let’s see if I roll a Critical Hit this time, motherlover!” (Our games were friendly. Violent, but friendly.) 

The next shot shattered his window. He recoiled even as his body armor absorbed the blow. 

Suddenly, the sedan lurched backward, across the street, into the remains of an old Chinese take-out place. 

Feeling invincible, I started outside, then hesitated. Looking at the rifle, was this the best I could do? In this place? Quickly, I scanned the remaining upright shelves and in a second found what I needed: a Big Honkin’ AV Gun, fully loaded. As I stared at it, it seemed to glow, illuminate, even, as a digital readout appeared in the air before me: Hand-weapon, 4 grenade equivalents, To-Hit: 5, Damage: 4 dice. Add optional scope for additional +1 to hit. 

I didn’t have time to search for a scope. One second can be an eternity! 

I ran outside as the sedan turned back onto the road, spinning back toward Ocean Parkway. That exposed his broken window to me. It was like a moment frozen in time as I levelled the BHAVG and fired. Direct hit! The car spun, flipped and went airborne, bursting into flames upon impact in the middle of Coney Island Ave. Cautious, but curious, onlookers appeared in the moments following. 

I survived round one but only because of this brand-new hand-weapon which would seriously imbalance the world. But not so much if I was the only one who had one. This could keep me safe until I go home. 

If I go home. 

**Author's Note:**

> This started with a writing prompt on reddit. I didn't create the world, but my first fiction sale was to Autoduel Quarterly back in the 80s. After that, I got a license to create Driving Tigers Magazine, which featured more Car Wars stories, including the continuing the stories of my characters. My dedication to Car Wars is part of what got me the job writing GURPS Autoduel, 2nd edition.


End file.
